Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 7 ~ Late for Wine (GF)

WONDERLAND - SEMIFINALS

Learning had always been a big part of Garlic Felucia's life. He wasn't smart in the classical sense of the word; he'd always hated mathematics and fumbled at spelling, mixing up the letters and failing miserably at pronunciation. His handwriting was horrid, indecipherable, and he always lost his place when reading, always swept up on a rug and sent flying through a plethora of other things he still had to do. When he remembered he held a book in his hands, he'd sigh, scan the pages for where he left off last, and then when he failed to find such a place he'd just slam the book shut and place it down in a place he'd never see it again.

Still, when he could get things right, when he could remember those things he thought to be completely useless, he felt some sense of pride swell in his chest. Even at the simplest of things, like what a sign said, or how to find the area of the bottom of a box.

Now, when it came to other types of learning, things he could pick up at the start, he was a pure genius. Garlic had always been the best at observations and timing, and above all, he was overly learned in the subject of picking up on the emotions and discomforts of others. Some may have said it was a bit self-centered for him to be keenly aware of his own self, too, but it only furthered his knowledge of the human and what made people sad, what made them happy. He knew what made others light up in delight, and he was perfectly aware of why people cried, even when they didn't feel like crying.

Garlic Felucia cared with the innocence of a small child that knew nothing of reality.

And that single statement was enough to bring on, instead of bits of learning, a plethora of question. Because if Garlic was so pure and innocent, why didn't he really exist?

Instead of untarnished Garlic in a rickety, rotting, splintering chair, it was Glenn in that rickety, rotting, splintering chair. He thought it was better that way, but if he really were Garlic he'd have been able to find some positivity in the situation, or at least have been able to pick up on things around him.

Instead of learning three things, like Garlic always would've done, he came up with three questions, three that had no answers.

To start off, why did his ankles and wrists remain caught in stone whenever he tried to move them? He kicked out, he lifted up, but with every struggle came a splinter to pierce the softness of his flesh. He swore there was blood all over the arm rests by that point, but he couldn't confirm that because, leading into his second question, he saw only blackness. Why was he blinded? He'd twitch his nose and wiggle his brows trying to shift the rough fabric off his eyes, but it never slipped, not even the tiniest bit. All he had were the senses of smell, taste, and hearing, and even his tongue was overwhelmed by the taste of copper.

Something smelled faintly of apples, cinnamon, and alcohol. Glenn wrinkled his nose in disgust; he found each smell putrid, all of them overtaken by that numbing drink. Then went his sense of smell, for he could pick up nothing other than whiskey. Briefly, a memory of a man taking a sip out of a flask back in the district crossed his mind. The man would hock it back and spit it into the street, a yellowed smile knocking out another tooth of his. I don't get how people can drink that stuff. It's so gross.

He settled back against his chair and breathed out. He strained to hear, and it wasn't hard to hear the light chuckles and heavily slurred cackles. So that led him to his last question: why were they laughing, and who was laughing?

Glenn's lip twitched at the lack of information, at his inability to figure out where he was and what he was doing there. Were people hanging around with blades and torture devices in hand? Were they staring at him like a mangled portrait in an art gallery? For some reason, his latter guess made him feel even more uncomfortable than the former. The splinters seemed to take form and pluck at his spine, forcing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. They just stare. They point and laugh. They accuse.